


I Am Aware That I Am An Asshole

by Leaving_tomorrow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (Child Neglect), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character's Name Spelled As Bodt, Character's Name Spelled as Jaeger, Everyone Is Gay, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, French Jean Kirstein, Implied/Referenced Area 51 Raid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Italian Marco Bott, Jean Is A Little Shit, Jean Kirstein Being An Asshole, Jean Kirstein Is A Snobby Rich Kid, Jean Kirstein Is Hot For Andy Biersack, Jean Kirstein Needs To Wash His Mouth With Soap, M/M, Marco Bott is a Sweetheart, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, Minor Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Minor Levi/Eren Yeager, Songfic, Swearing, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:09:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaving_tomorrow/pseuds/Leaving_tomorrow
Summary: There is no song in the world that represents Jean Kirstein more than 'Just Like You' by Falling In Reverse.Also: he's extremely gay, in love with his boyfriend and his friends are morons.





	I Am Aware That I Am An Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a really simple songfic but it's a hodgepodge of headcanons, oops.  
> WARNING: Lots of swearing/cursing. I didn't know how to rate this because of how much Jean swears.  
> So, if you're sensitive to that kind of content but still want to read it then proceed with caution.

Ymir gives him a shove, which only entices Jean to crank the music up louder. He doesn’t give a fuck that the glass bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade in his hand was hitting the side of Ymir’s crappy, old pickup truck. This song was his jam!

_‘I am aware that I am an asshole_

_I really don't care about all of that though_

_I've got nothing to prove_

_But honestly, I'm just like you’_

There was no other song in the world that represented him more than ‘Just Like You’ by Falling In Reverse. He might’ve scoffed at them at first, mostly because he thought Ronnie Radke couldn’t hold a single candle to such an emo/goth/whatever the fuck god like Andy Biersack. He wasn’t even exaggerating when he said he was his sexual awakening in middle school. Long hair, short hair, makeup, no makeup--NOBODY should be allowed to be that fucking hot.

Anyways, ignoring his introduction to rock/metal, he could only ironically hate on Falling In Reverse for so long before he realized that some songs were bomb and he had to stop bitching. 

_‘I've got a bad case of ADD_

_I've been this way since 17_

_I got a fucked-up brain and a really bad attitude_

_And I blame it on my drug abuse’_

Yes, he recognized his flaws and tried to fix them every now and then. He’s had a lot of character growth since middle school, though he knew Eren would immediately disagree. Screw his opinion though. If Ymir and the rest of the gays could agree, then Eren could take his bitter ass to get eaten by his (completely undeservingly) hot boyfriend.

_‘So you don't wanna be too close to me_

_'Cause you might see my broken heart’_

He still doesn't know how Eren managed to land such a dark, brooding older guy with dark hair, tattoos and piercings (aka, Jean’s usual type). He was short (though he could kick all of their asses) and way too blunt to even try and touch with a 20-foot pole. He was a History professor too. _History_. Nothing must get Eren hotter than World War 2 when Nazi Germany and their allies conquered Europe. The sadist.

So, he wasn’t too jealous of Jaeger. Moreover, how can he be? He’s got a freckled angel waiting for him.

_‘I am aware that I am an asshole_

_I really don't care about all of that though_

_I'm living my life the way that I want to_

_And you can't deny that, honestly, I'm just like you_

_Just like you, just like you’_

He never expected to have a Marco in his life. ‘A Marco’ meaning someone so different and so out of his league. He was toned, his jaw and collarbones seemed to be sculpted by the gods, and yet… he was so soft. He had dimples on his face **and** his lower back. His arms were comforting, anchoring. Just firm enough to feel safe but soft enough to not worry about being crushed. It was impossible not to feel like everything was going to be alright in his arms. His body was _that_ nice to fall into that Jean became a cuddler.

He wasn’t ripped by any means, but he certainly was solid. And unlike Jean’s usual attraction to punks, Marco hardly wore black. He embraced colors, especially looking good in cream/tan and red. He wore sweatshirts on top of button ups, always ready for fall. He even wore a big scarf and a hat with ear flaps or pom poms when it was that cold out! It looks ridiculous on anyone else, but he makes it so fucking cute!

He had the dark hair, but the crazy number of tattoos and piercings were replaced with about a gazillion freckles all over his body. 

Granted, he _did_ have some ink. One tattoo. It was small but full colored, mostly black. It covered up (Marco had guessed) about 10 freckles. Jean would’ve been mad, had it not been such a cute tattoo: a smiling Boston terrier, which he got to honor his family dog that he had for 16 years. Plus, he got it just before they met so… he couldn’t really do much about it.

It was also a nice surprise a year into dating, since Marco only alluded to having a tattoo on his thigh that he wasn’t going to show to him willy-nilly. And if he didn’t want to get into his pants before, or get him naked in general, **that** certainly motivated him.

_‘I've been so lonely for the longest time_

_They tell me that I'm such a lovable guy_

_Could it be because I’m off my meds?_

_Or could it just be something I said?’_

It makes him sound like a douche, but it was the truth at the time. Not that he still doesn’t want to get all up in that, whether just for foreplay or further (depending on how they’re feeling and who needs it more), he just doesn’t need to work as hard for it anymore (usually). Somehow, Marco has gotten even better the farther along they’ve been together. A better person than Jean first realized, he means. Not the sex. Though, that _did_ get better.

_‘You don't wanna be too close to me_

_'Cause you might see my broken heart’_

He knew a lot about Marco by now, dating him for five years now and moving in together a year ago. And he still manages to learn new things about him or see a different side of him. Despite being called a freckled angel by all their friends, Jean included; Marco wasn’t always a pure ball of sunshine. He was sassy, demanding, full of sarcasm and absolutely atrocious puns. He sang in the shower (horribly), he danced with no shame (not bad but not great), his cooking was way better than Jean’s (who burnt a brownie in the microwave trying to reheat it) and don’t even get him _started_ on Marco’s baking.

It was like he truly was an angel; making delicious homemade cookies, cakes, brownies... basically any recipe he could get his hands on he could do. Especially creme brulees and profiteroles, he unfortunately put that little bakery in France Jean visited when studying abroad to shame. Marco wasn’t even French, he’s Italian! However, his upbringing ensured that he knew how to cook. His mom loves to cook, especially for a big happy family around the holidays, so she equipped Marco with the knowledge and skills for when he grew up and had one. Ironic. But at least Marco’s mom loved and accepted the both of them and their future, even though he can’t cook for shit.

Jean could hardly brown ground beef in a pan or some-what successfully flip pancakes. That’s what he got for being left alone after he hit about 10-years-old. Not completely alone, he did have a few nannies to play with or the maid who was way more like a mother to him than his actual mother. He had hardly any life skills.

_‘I am aware that I am an asshole_

_I really don't care about all of that though_

_I'm living my life the way that I want to_

_And you can't deny that, honestly, I'm just like you_

_Just like you, just like you’_

Whatever though, right? He was the snobby rich kid who got whatever he wanted, including going abroad to Paris in high school. Now he’s got an apartment in the heart of Los Angeles, going to UCLA to study Art. He got into a competitive school, with a 16% acceptance rate, to study Art? Something he actually enjoys? Without worrying about money?

Who the fuck gets to do that? 

Marco was working his ass off at UCLA, for a Linguistics and Italian BA, having to transfer from a community college due to not being accepted outright. Meeting Marco did give him perspective, knowing how many hours he stayed awake studying while Jean shirked off some of his assignments because he wasn’t in the mood or went into full blown mental breakdowns because his art was crap and deadlines were crap and professors didn’t know shit and he was wasting his life away at 26-years-old. It was his karma, wasn’t it? For choosing Art. Like his parents warned him not to do.

_‘And I'm always stuck with some bad luck_

_I'm just a boy who's angry at his mom_

_And I hope, in fact, she breaks her back_

_The moment I step on this crack_

_And don't tell me I'm not worth it_

_'Cause you are far from perfect’_

His father majored in Business and his mother was a ‘housewife’. What BS. His father was always away on business trips and all his mother cared about was her reputation. Did she have the newest designer clothes? Was her nails prim and proper, his hands so delicate because she doesn’t lift a finger to do anything? Did she need to go in for Botox again to look flawless, like a doll? She had no job and she certainly wasn’t doing what a housewife was supposed to do. Jean did have part-time jobs during a few summers, but now he’s ‘focusing on school.’ Even if he’s having a midlife crisis, at least he’s doing shit. 

_‘I am aware that you are all assholes_

_Who the hell cares about all of that though?’_

Honestly, they were both big reasons why he pursued men when he realized he was interested. Whenever his dad would come home, when they’d have an awkward family dinner, he could be as brash as he wanted. He got a kick out of making his father flustered by describing the hot gay sex he had with a boy from school. His mother’s prudishness only added to his sense of accomplishment of their open homophobia.

Did they yell at him? His father yes, his mother was more the speechless disgusted type. Did they threaten to take him out of school, freeze his credit cards and/or disown him all together? Absolutely. But did they have any plans of actually going through with it? Of course not. He was their only son...and this was all ‘a phase’. Sure, he found women hot too. But he’d never go for a woman they wanted him to marry and give them grandchildren. He didn’t want delicate, he wanted someone who could probably kick his ass.

That was Marco. He could 100% kick his ass. However, he wouldn’t. He was a sweetheart, after all. He’d only fight when it was necessary, which meant that he’d only fight for someone else. His anger hardly ever led to violence like Jean’s had. With any argument they had Marco was more serious and quieter. Which was scarier than if Marco threw something. Marco was taught to compromise, to never lay a hand on his spouse in anger. Never go to bed on an argument and have constant communication that everything was okay. Still...Marco’s hands were rough with callouses from working hard, no matter what. And Jean loved that about him. It might be a gay thing, but he loved his hands. How warm, how big and how rough they were. How versatile they were, how he can go from being so gentle to firm and strong. He’s kissed those hands at least two hundred times by now, he absolutely loves them.

_‘I am aware that I am an asshole_

_I really don't care about all of that though_

_I'm living my life the way that I want to_

_And you can't deny that, honestly, I'm just like you_

_Just like you, just like you, just like you’_

It’s at this moment that he’s socked in the arm. Not shoved, not tapped. Full on socked. Lifting his head quickly, Ymir says “We’re here”, before he can even ask ‘what the fuck?’ Turning the music down before getting out and heading to the back, Jean recognizes the song as ‘Kick Me’ by Sleeping With Sirens. Lifting the bottle to his lips and finishing off the last bit, he places it in the cup holder before rolling up the window and getting out. Having to manually lock it behind him, he shuts the door. “Watch it!” Ymir gripes, as if he slammed it. Even if he did- she slams it too! Barely suppressing an eye roll, he goes to retrieve his baby that Ymir took out of the back. 

“Is she okay? Banged up at all from your crazy ass driving?” He asked, Ymir scoffing loudly. “I should’ve driven us into a ditch, ‘cause I was considering it. Why can’t you be normal and just thank me? Asshole.” Well, he deserved that.

His motorcycle died after going into town, thankfully only have a few trinkets for Marco’s family in two bags instead of melting ice cream or something. Taking his bike to the shop has become a bit more frequent, which told him he should probably just call it quits and get a new one. But, she’s special. He bought her with his own money, getting a whole separate license for her. He truly didn’t understand why Ymir wouldn’t get a replacement truck until he got his bike. Mlm and wlw solidarity. 

So, with that thought, he had called Ymir for help. She was the only one he knew who had a truck. Even if it’s a death trap. They say motorcycles are the most dangerous, since people usually don’t see them, but Ymir is basically as bad. It’s probably her horrible road rage. Besides the point, he didn’t want to call his insurance to get towed since it’d get back to his parents. As much money as he does spend, he wants them out of his life and his business as much as possible.

“Thank you for being my tow truck home, I’ll pay you back.” Lifting the kickstand and steadying his bike, Ymir socks him again. It’s lighter, but not by much. “You better. You still have to make up for the time you puked in Krista’s flower beds.” 

Not this again. “For the last time, that doesn’t count! I was 16 and you gave me shots, what did you expect would happen?” Ymir crosses her arms while Jean snarls at her. “I expected the spoiled little rich boy to have built up a tolerance by then, having to drink wine and champagne at every possible gathering. How could I have known you were a pussy? You didn’t say anything about it.” Yes, he did.

“And what does age have to do with anything? The law? Fuck that. My dad let me suck on a hand towel soaked in whiskey when I was teething at 2 and I turned out just fine. I tried whiskey, and a bunch of other shit, when I was around 14 too and I didn’t go to jail.” She shrugs, Jean’s brows furrowing. Her dad _did_ go to jail, but it was on separate charges. So, that was fair to say. Still, it’s the first he’s heard about this. If she’s experimented with drinks: why does she always buy the shitty, cheap beers for parties, then? Acquired taste?

Ugh, whatever. “Your statute of limitations is probably up by now anyways. So, no harm, I guess.” His foot starts bouncing, knowing that Marco was home. He just wanted to see him already and show him the gifts he got. “Oooh, such a big boy phrase. Marco will make a good man of you yet...oh! Speaking of the Government listening to us; do you wanna go on the raid to Area 51 with me, Eren, Connie, Sasha, Reiner and Hanji? Krista and Bertholdt are trying to stop us from going, same with Mikasa and Armin for Eren. Erwin and Levi don’t think it’s a great idea, but I think they’re just being wimps. They could totally handle the military, especially since we have so much time to plan for it. Hanji’s got this great idea…. you in?” 

He hoped they weren’t really going to go. If not arrested, these gays sharing one brain cell will be mowed down by bullets or maybe even gassed (if it’s a large group, they might as well not waste bullets). It’s a military site, after all. “Unfortunately, I think Marco wants me alive. And I want to be alive without a criminal record on me for the rest of my life, having served jail time.” Ymir huffs. “Fine, you boring nerd. I’ll let you go now to enjoy being alive ‘nd shit. My princess is waiting for me too, so, good luck with yours.” 

Lifting her hand and titling it as a wave, Jean returns it and parks his motorcycle in the designated spot. Ymir drives off in the background, but he hardly notices. Taking the elevator up and walking through the hallway, he opens their door and shuts it behind him. Removing his shoes, he hears music. Taking off his jacket and deciding to investigate, he stumbles upon quite the scene.

Marco was dancing in the kitchen. He’s done it many times before; it wasn’t difficult to catch him doing it. But instead of the normal dancing, the very gentle swaying and almost ballet-esque feet movements... he was almost head banging. His movements were a bit freer, a bit more unhinged. He didn’t care what he was doing, he was just following his heart. Instead of the soft jazz or love songs he plays every now and then, this was ‘All I Want’ by A Day to Remember. Marco was also singing under his breath. He did this to him. 

_‘So let's get back to when everything seemed perfect_

_Not a worry in the world, tell me was this all worth it?_

_I get what I want so everyone's always judging me_

_I'm not afraid of anything, I've got the whole world in front of me’_

He’s created a monster (not really). Marco always had a diverse music taste, being way less picky (all things considered) than him. But still, this was...surreal. 

Beautiful Marco, dancing in front of the open window. The sun was setting, creating a warm glow around him. The breeze was making the sunflowers in the windowsill sway as if they were dancing with him. The sun shone on the white wall tiles of their kitchen, highlighting the frames pictures of a cup of tea/coffee, tomatoes and an Italian sparrow. 

Marco was a mess. Literally. He was in his lounging clothes, tee shirt and sweatpants. However, he had his blue plaid apron on, and it was covered in flour. Jean sniffs the air and smells telltale signs of Marco Bodt’s famous homemade Margherita pizza, so how on earth is he such a mess? He turns a bit while dancing to show his face and hair has flour on it, the white powder dusting the floor as he shakes his floppy black hair to the rhythm. 

_‘All I want is a place to call my own_

_To mend the hearts of everyone who feels alone_

_Whoa, you know to keep your hopes up high_

_And your head down low’_

It was a weird time, but he thinks about getting a cute cottage in Italy. It’d cost a fortune and would be almost impossible to find one deserving of Marco, but god damn it would be worth it. He didn’t know why it popped in his head. They still had school left to complete and he didn’t even know if Marco would want to move anywhere else. Jean knew they couldn’t just up and leave, as much as his gut was telling him that that was romantic. It takes time to find a house...just like it took time to find a _home_. But he found it and has managed to keep it for 5 years now… and hopefully for the rest of his life.

_‘All I want is a place to call my own_

_To mend the hearts of everyone who feels alone_

_Whoa, you know to keep your hopes up high_

_And your head down low’_

Setting the bags down on the ground, he sneaks up and wraps his arms around Marco’s waist. Startled, he jumps, and a cloud of white dust flies and seemingly vanishes seconds later. Marco lets out a small giggle after turning his head to look, nudging his cheek against his. Spreading even more flour, like an infection, he laughs Jean’s reaction. It doesn’t take long to process that he’s contagious, the fiend.

_‘Keep your heads down low_

_Keep your heads down low_

_Keep your hopes up high_

_And your heads down low’_

Nuzzling his cheek into the crook of his neck to make Marco take the flour back, his boyfriend squirms in his arms. “Jean! Stop! That tickles!” He says between giggles and taking breathes, Jean’s well-known/well-documented shit eating grin spreading across his face. Nipping under his chin, he continues along his neck but stops immediately tasting flour. Pulling his face away, face scrunched up and tongue out in disgust, his freckled angel of a boyfriend (of course, with zero sympathy) laughs at him.

“The song was a warning, you should’ve listened.” Marco says with that bright, stupid, toothy smile on his face. His eyes fond, shining like molten hot chocolate. Or something cheesy like that. 

Hey, Jean can own up to it. He was an asshole. Honestly, he wasn’t ‘just like’ Marco...Marco wasn’t an asshole. He was a cute, giddy little shit. Tall, dark, freckled, handsome, kind, funny and an absolute massive nerd/dork. And he fucking loved him.

“Yeah, yeah.”


End file.
